The Return of Cathos (Tales of the Silver Sword Inn, Complete Collection One)

by Wilson Harp

  Natab furiously tried to remove his shield, as the cold was becoming painful and he did not wish frostbite on his arm. When he finally was able to get free of it, he saw Zomora and Kargan standing just inches in front of the wall. It was coated in a thick layer of ice where the spirit had passed through.

  “It’s through there. It’s not far at all; I feel like I am looking straight at it,” the Diviner said in an awed tone. “I am so close to my destiny. I am just minutes away from leaving this life behind and tasting true power.”

  She motioned Kargan away and waved Natab forward. “Strike the wall with the pommel of your sword.”

  Natab reversed the hold on his sword and used both hands to drive the pommel of the weapon into the patch of ice on the wall. The ice cracked beneath his strike, and the groaning of stone giving way filled his ears. All three of them backed away from the wall as it collapsed in a cold cloud of rock and dust.

  When the dust had settled, they could see that an entrance in the wall had appeared as if it were a doorway that had been carved out. A dim glow of blue light came from down the newly revealed corridor. Zomora motioned them into the narrow passage. Natab’s head came close to the stone above him, so he hunched a bit as he made his way forward. Kargan had taken the lead and was well into the hallway when he pointed out the altar in a room some fifty feet ahead of them. The altar was made of black stone, wide but low to the ground. On it was a bronze scepter inlaid with dull red gems. The small room it rested in was illuminated by bright blue crystals that shone with a magical light.

  “There!” Zomora said. “The scepter on the altar! That is what I must have!”

  Kargan started moving quickly down the passage, swords in his hands, his eyes fixed on the scepter. Natab hurried after him, but within a few steps the young warrior was moving quickly to the altar. The floor about ten feet before the room seemed to sit off center to Natab. One of the center blocks seemed tilted in.

  “Kargan, wait.” Natab started to hurry after the warrior who was by now almost at a full run.

  As Kargan stepped on the stone that Natab had noticed, he disappeared into a pit along with several of the blocks that made up the floor.

  Natab heard a gasp behind him from the Diviner. He hurried to the place where the floor had collapsed and looked down. About fifteen feet below the hallway, Kargan lay face down suspended on a series of sharp spikes that had pierced his body so thoroughly and completely that he hadn’t even cried out in surprise or pain. The heavy blocks had knocked over many of the spikes, but more than enough were still standing that their rusty points were a deadly threat to any who fell among them.

  Zomora caught up to Natab a few seconds later and shoved her way beside him to see what he was staring at. Natab leaned back to make room for her as she looked down at Kargan’s pierced and broken body.

  She was visibly shaken at the sight of the young warrior’s death. Natab considered this as he watched her. He had seen her sacrifice several lovers on the altar when she needed more power. He had even heard the stories that she had sacrificed her own sister when she was first declared a Diviner. Natab knew that her discomfort was not at seeing death. She reveled in death and wrapped herself in its cold embrace. It was power she had somehow lost with Kargan’s death. How Kargan would have brought her power was beyond what Natab could see.

  “Here, there is a thin ledge around the pit. We can cross into the room if we are careful,” he said.

  He edged along the rim of the pit and stepped into the room. Zomora followed quickly, and they both approached the altar. The bronze scepter lay on the altar shining in the dull light of the blue crystals. Though it had lain undisturbed for countless years, no dust had gathered on the altar or its consecrated item.

  “Draw your symbols for the ritual. I will go retrieve Kargan’s body,” said Natab as he moved back towards the narrow hallway.

  “No, we will do the ritual back in Padash,” said Zomora behind him.

  Natab stopped as the idea lurking in the back of his head formed into understanding. She only needed the heart of a Battle Lord to start the ritual and the words of a Battle Lord to bind the item to her. The red clay jar with the heart and Natab’s words were all she needed to bind the scepter to her now. For her to want to delay meant—

  His sword led the way as he turned back to her. She was reaching for the scepter when she heard his shout and turned to face him. She barely dodged his thrust as she leapt away from the altar. The words of her incantation were still forming on her tongue when he punched her with his left hand. She raised her right hand to throw some powder on him when his blade sliced cleanly through her wrist.

  She fell to her knees, holding her arm to her body as she stared dumbly at her hand lying on the floor before her. Natab walked over to the red clay jar that had fallen to the floor when she leaped, and crushed it under his boot. It was empty. Zomora knew he had discovered her plan.

  “You thought you could betray me, witch. If only you had a partner who had learned a bit more patience you might have succeeded.”

  The blood poured from the stump at Zomora’s wrist. Her face contorted in agony. Her mouth twisted, but no words would come through her pain.

  “You needed the heart of a Battle Lord, so you thought to use mine. And then you were to mark Kargan to replace me.” He tossed his sword to the ground and grabbed the onyxwood box from her belt. He looked at it with contempt and threw it against the wall.

  “You would bind the scepter to yourself and establish a man you could manipulate as a Battle Lord. With that power and an ally who was sealed to you through murder, you could form your own clan.”

  Natab grabbed the Diviner by her hair and pulled her to her feet. He would not have her slip to death in comfort. He wanted to remind her of her failure as the demons she used for her power came to rip away her soul.

  “Look upon me! You have failed! Your plan was ambitious, but you were a fool—”

  Natab looked down to see the hilt of her thin dagger pressed firmly against his stomach, its point reaching deep inside his guts. Her eyes shone in triumph as he grabbed her head with both hands and simply snapped her neck. He dropped her body, picked up his sword, and stepped towards the altar.

  His breath was already starting to falter as the poison of the blade quickly made its way through his body. He sat down in front of the altar and arranged himself to be found properly. Whoever entered this chamber next would find his body sitting at rest, sword across his lap. That is how he would enter the halls of Fenni—a warrior on alert.

  The High Pass

  The door to the inn flew open as two travelers, water pouring off their heavy cloaks, came stumbling into the warm, well lit common room. The fire in the hearth seemed to gutter and falter as the strong wind that buffeted the solidly built inn found an opening to assail those within. The taller traveler turned back to the door. He struggled to close it as the strong steady wind howled its defiance and worked to keep the door open. With a final shove the door closed, and the warm light from the hearth and candles around the room stopped flickering and shone steady.

  The two travelers turned and looked at the only other patrons in the inn. A rough looking man and a rougher looking dwarf stared back at them without any expression.

  The dwarf took a long drink of his beer before he addressed the newcomers. “You look like a couple of drowned dogs.”

  The smaller traveler threw her hood back, revealing the face of a gorgeous woman with long, lustrous white hair with jet black tips. She stared at the two at the table with the same expressionless look they showed her. The other traveler panted as he leaned against the door. He pulled his hood back revealing the handsome face of a man near his middle years with touches of grey on the trim of his beard and the points of his temples.

  “You could have helped us, Martel,” the man said.

  “Help you what? Wrestle the door? Besides, Ermine told us to leave you alone after the last time you had trouble with a door,�
� said Martel.

  “The last time you tried to help Namos with a door, you were nailing it shut. And that wasn’t helping so much as sealing him into a cellar you had convinced him was haunted,” Ermine spat at Martel as she took off her dripping cloak.

  “It is fine, Ermine. Martel just respects me too much to think I need help against a strong breeze,” laughed Namos.

  Ermine threw her soaked cloak across a table and helped Namos get out of his wet layers of wool. “It’s not that, my love, Martel just has problems with you.”

  “I like him Ermine. I like you Namos. I was just settled in and it was a door that needed closing. I’m glad you decided to come tonight, but if I had known just how bad that storm would get, I would have encouraged you to stay in Gen until tomorrow.”

  Namos stretched as Ermine took his cloak away and laid it next to hers on the table.

  “Martel, was that Ermine and Namos?” Croft said as he came out of the kitchen.

  “Croft! It’s so good to see you,” said Ermine “How long has it been? At least three years.”

  Croft looked at his old friend. She was just like he last remembered her. She was curvy without the look of a soft woman—trim and fit without the look of a hard woman. If a sculptor needed a model for a victorious female champion, he would choose Ermine. Her sword hung on a well-worn belt on her left hip, and he could see the pommels of daggers peeking out from the tops of her boots. Her bow would be packed on her horse along with the large shield she carried into battle. Croft was sure she had a few other weapons secured upon her or stowed in her saddlebags. She had been an adventurer since she was a teenager, and while that was two decades ago, time had merely added to her allure and attractiveness.

  “Ermine, it is wonderful to see you again. With this storm I was expecting you sometime tomorrow. I can’t believe you went out in this.”

  “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I wanted to spend the night in this establishment I’ve heard so much about, and I was interested in getting to know the innkeeper.”

  Croft walked over to the man and shook his extended hand. “I’m Croft. Welcome to the Silver Sword Inn.”

  “I’m Namos, and I recently fell in with this lot.” The man smiled broadly as he shook Croft’s hand.

  “Well I am sorry to hear that,” said Croft. He motioned towards the empty common room. “But the good news is that the storms have kept the rest of my patrons away, so you will have run of the inn for the night. If there is anything you need, just let me know. Magda has cooked up a nice roast beef, and we should be able to have dinner in a few minutes. Can I get any of you anything?”

  “I’ll take a mulled wine,” said Namos. “Must knock this chill out of myself.”

  Ermine stretched and sat down. “I’ll have a brandy if you have some.”

  “Martel? Baldric?” Croft asked the two friends who had not moved since they had planted themselves hours ago.

  ‘I’m good,” answered Martel looking in his mug.

  “Two more here,” said Baldric finding room for his recently emptied mug on the tray that Croft had left on the table. “Down to my last one.”

  Croft shook his head at the thirsty dwarf as he took the tray of empty mugs back to the bar. Ermine and Namos settled in with Martel and Baldric while the innkeeper filled their orders. When he came back to the table, Baldric was holding a small clay disc about twice the size of a coin in his hand.

  “What’s that?” Croft asked as he set the drinks down.

  “This is why we are in the area. Take a look,” said Baldric holding the disc out to Croft.

  Croft took the disc and looked at it closely. There was writing all over one side of it, but it was in a dwarven script that Croft couldn’t identify. He handed it back to Baldric.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t know. Was hoping that Calaran would be here, he knows all sorts of ancient languages,” said the dwarf finishing off another mug.

  Croft pulled a chair over to their table and sat down. “Where did you get it?”

  “A merchant had it out in Marlino. I saw it on one of his shelves and asked him about it. He said it was an artifact from a long lost dwarven kingdom and tried to sell it to me for five gold pieces. Total nonsense. I talked him down to eighty silver.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No, I believe it is an artifact from a long lost dwarven kingdom,” said Baldric.

  Croft chuckled and leaned back. “But you said that was total nonsense.”

  “From the merchant it was nonsense. He had no idea what it was—just something he bought off of a peddler. I happen to know that it is an artifact from a long lost dwarven kingdom. Or at least I would if I could get the words translated.”

  “The bard brings you here?”

  “Martel says that Calaran can decipher anything, and that would be handy. But the peddler the merchant bought it from acquired it here in Black Oak. You remember that landslide that closed off the high pass north of the town last winter? One of the men who was hired to help clear the road found it among the debris and sold it to the peddler as a curio.”

  “Well that is interesting.”

  “These lands have been switching back and forth between wilderness and settled civilization for thousands of years. Great adventuring territory and a prime spot for a missing dwarven kingdom up in the mountains.”

  Croft looked at Martel and cocked his head.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think much of it either until he pointed out one of the symbols on the disc was an anvil with a flame behind it. The dwarven kings of Breach Hold and Mendalattium both have an anvil and a flame as part of their royal symbols,” said Martel

  Croft turned back to Baldric. “You think this is a royal seal, don’t you?”

  Baldric looked down at the table and grumbled under his breath.

  “Baldric. Do you really think that is what you have?” Croft prodded.

  “Maybe. If it’s not, it’s still could be important,” mumbled the dwarf as he put it in a pocket.

  Croft stood and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later he and Cassie started bringing out dinner to the hungry adventurers. The storm raged all through the evening, and there were no other visitors to the inn. Mikel had been sitting in the stables waiting to aid any travelers looking for shelter, but Croft went and fetched him before the supper became cold and had the boy eat at the table with his friends. Even Magda came out and enjoyed visiting with the adventurers before she dragged Mikel back to the kitchen with her to clean up.

  Mikel was reluctant to go as he was enjoying looking at the exotic Ermine and listening to her tales of danger. Croft and Martel had both agreed that their female companion could easily have become a bard if she had wanted; she had a real gift for telling stories. Croft noticed that Cassie was trying very hard not to be impressed by Ermine, and failing miserably. She even tried flirting with Namos, which caused Ermine to suggest that she strip down if she really wanted the man’s attention. Cassie fled the room with crimson cheeks, muttering that perhaps she had drunk a little too much that evening and needed to find her bed.

  Croft and his friends stayed up well into the night just relaxing together and telling the sorts of stories that they would around a campfire. Eventually, though, exhaustion set in and Martel rose to remind them all that there were several long days of walking ahead. Since the party was going to be heading into the mountains, Croft agreed to stable their mounts and give them some provisions for their trip. He showed the party to their rooms and closed up his inn for the night.

  Croft woke the next morning and found Martel and Ermine already laying out all of their gear and going through what they would need. A pack for Baldric to carry was being carefully filled with items in order of when they would need it. Several tarps and blankets were being packed along to make shelter in the mountains. Food and oil would go in next and then the climbing gear and ropes. First aid goods and healing potions would be right at the top for easy access. Croft went to
the kitchen and woke Magda. He took a few slabs of smoked bacon, some roasted mutton, a few loaves of hard crusted bread, and a wheel of cheese with an unbroken rind. Martel had mapped out a four day trip, and that should be enough for five days in case they ran into trouble. Croft packaged the food and brought it out to the common room.

  Baldric had joined them and Namos was starting to come down the stairs yawning and stretching when Croft set the foodstuffs on the table. He went to go draw a beer for Baldric without being asked and set it down in front of the dwarf.

  Ermine went over to Namos and greeted him good morning with a kiss. She then pressed a set of waterbags into his hands. “The well is by the stable. We’ll leave when you get these filled.”

  Namos nodded and took the waterbags out the front of the inn.

  The sun had not peeked over the horizon by the time the group of adventurers had left the sight of the Silver Sword Inn. The cloudless sky promised a beautiful late summer day, and Croft hoped the weather would hold for them as they approached the mountains.

  ------------------------------

  By noon the adventurers had left the last vestiges of the farmlands of Black Oak behind and started up the North Road over the High Pass. It was an ancient road, the paving stones worn smooth from hundreds of years of wheels and boots. The climb was slow and smooth, and by the end of the first day the party had traveled fifteen miles to the mouth of the pass proper. They made camp off the side of the road and were up with the dawn again the next day.

  The next morning the climb was a bit steeper, and by noon all of them were fairly tired. They were near the top of the pass a few hours later and saw where the landslide had taken place. The slide had come from the west side of the pass. A large singular peak loomed above them from the west, and they all agreed that if there were an ancient dwarven kingdom that had overlooked this area, it was likely to be found in that massive mountain. They pulled the climbing gear out of the pack, and Baldric led the way while Martel brought up the rear with the pack strapped to his back.